Soul of a Samurai

The sound of wood clashing against wood echoed through the training field.

I could barely think, barely breathe, but my body moved.

My arms burned. My legs ached. But I still stepped forward, gripping my sword tightly.

Father stood in front of me, unmoving as always, his wooden blade steady.

He was still holding back.

But I was getting better.

At first, I thought sparring was just another part of training.

But the more I fought, the more I understood.

Everything I had done for the past two years—

It was all for this.

Every brutal exercise, every weight I lifted, every drop of sweat that hit the ground—

It was never about simple strength.

It was about control.

Moving with the sword.

Never letting go, no matter what.

Dodging and redirecting attacks.

Enduring, even when exhaustion begged me to stop.

I was being prepared for battle.

And now, I was finally fighting.

Father lunged forward.

I barely had time to react before his sword was already coming down.

I moved on instinct, twisting my body just enough to avoid a direct hit.

Not dodging too much.

Just enough to minimize movement.

His attack came again, and I stepped to the side, keeping my sword close to my body.

Before, I would have panicked.

Before, I would have swung wildly, hoping to land a hit.

Now—I knew better.

I saw an opening.

It was small, barely there.

But it was something.

Instead of attacking recklessly, I shifted my stance and waited.

Father swung again, aiming for my ribs.

I stepped forward instead of back.

Our swords met—

And I turned my blade, redirecting his strike just enough to create an opening.

For the first time, I had caught him off guard.

I saw his eyes widen slightly.

It was the first time I had forced a reaction out of him.

I gritted my teeth and stepped in, raising my sword—

Then, a foot slammed into my stomach.

The next thing I knew, I was on my back, staring at the sky.

A sharp pain pulsed through my body.

For a moment, I couldn't even breathe.

Then, I heard him speak.

"Better."

I turned my head, looking up at him.

Father stood over me, his expression unreadable.

But there was something different in his eyes.

Something like—approval.

I had still lost.

I had still been defeated easily.

But I had forced him to react.

Even if it was just for a second.

That meant I was improving.

And that meant—

Tomorrow, I would do even better.